


Are you sitting comfortably? (Then I'll begin)

by 17 pansies (17pansies)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Clint/Coulson Prompt Meme Round 1 - rocks_not_dead asked for:<br/>"Established relationship.  Clint won't sleep. Either because he's being obstinate or for some other reason. So Coulson is all "Do you want me to read to you?" all kinda sarcastic. And Clint is like "Yes!""</p><p>Just a little fluff, y'all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you sitting comfortably? (Then I'll begin)

“Lie down Barton,” Phil ordered, striding into Medi-bay. Natasha looked up from where she had a hand planted firmly on Clint’s sternum. “Thank you, Romanov, I’ll deal with this.”

“Three cracked ribs do not mean I have to stay lying down!” Clint began, but Natasha moved her hand to his mouth.

“Three cracked ribs,” Phil agreed, nodding at Rogers and resisting the urge to roll his eyes at a grinning Stark. “Concussion with possible subdural haematoma, suspected hairline fracture to your scapula, not that you’ll keep still long enough for them to xray it and a bad case of dolor in natibus.”

“What the hell is that?” Clint muffled then stared at Natasha in shock as she actually snorted out loud. The expression was fleeting but that was definitely a smirk she levelled at Phil, who did little more than let an eyebrow twitch in her direction. He struggled to shove her hand away enough to speak. “I mean, what the fuck, sir?”

“Everyone out.”

Phil watched them all file out, battered and bruised but none as badly injured as Clint, thank god. He sat himself in the chair next to the archer’s bed and sighed.

“Next time you fling yourself off the top of a moving vehicle, Barton, just stop a moment, think and, well, just don’t.”

“I got the target.” He would have shrugged, except for the scapula. The door finally clicked closed and Phil let the weariness he felt show through for a moment.

“Whilst your dedication to duty is commendable, Clint,” he said softly, reaching out to wrap warm fingers gently around Clint’s bloodied, bandaged hand. “I’d really like it if you could manage to stay in one piece for a little longer.”

“How much longer, sir?” The eyes were warm in spite of the snippy tone.

“About the next forty years or so would do me just fine.” Phil leaned forward and pressed warm, dry lips to Clint’s chapped ones. Pausing, drawing back a tiny fraction, he licked the faint trace of copper from his mouth and went back for another kiss, one that Clint returned with alacrity. “Now, lie back and get some rest.”

Clint stared at him in disbelief as Phil pulled out his phone and swiped his finger over the screen.

“What are you doing?” Clint asked. “Angry Birds? Let me see.”

“No, I’m reading.” Phil flashed Clint the screen, just long enough for the younger man to make out the word ‘Kindle’. “Now shut up and get some rest, as I’m not going anywhere until you’re safely asleep and I’ve read at least two chapters.”

“What are you reading?” Clint grumbled, but settled back against the pillows, knowing arguing with Phil in this mood was futile.

“Tom Clancy.” He hid his smirk at Clint’s snort of amusement. “Oh shut up. You haven’t got a leg to stand on, Barton, you read Starfleet Academy books.”

“If I’m really good and quiet,” Clint said after a whole fifteen seconds of silence. “Could you – I mean, would you mind, uh, reading to me?”

“You want a bedtime story?” Phil asked. It was only twenty odd years of training that kept the sarcasm out of his voice – that and the slightly wistful look in Clint’s soft eyes.

“Forget it,” the archer huffed, but Phil reached out and touched the rough, stubbled cheek.

“Hey, it’s ok. I will, if you really want me to.”

Clint nodded, mute and so Phil settled back in his chair, flicked the book back to page one and began to read. 

“Captain First Rank Marko Ramius of the Soviet Navy was dressed for the Arctic conditions normal to the Northern Fleet submarine base at Polyarny. Five layers of wool and oilskin enclosed him. A dirty harbour tug pushed his submarine’s bow around to the north, facing down the channel. The dock that had held his Red October for two interminable months was now a water-filled concrete box…” His voice was deliberately low and soft, and by the time he reached the end of the first chapter, Clint was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Dolor in natibus is Latin for pain in the ass. Yeah, I know, don't shoot me. I blame Natasha.
> 
> And huge thanks to everystarfall for the correct translation! Kudos to you my dear :)


End file.
